


Possibility

by calenlily



Category: Buffy the Vampire Slayer (TV)
Genre: F/M, Fix-It, Mild angst to make way for painful amounts of fluff, POV First Person, Porn with Feelings, Season/Series 03, Tenderness
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-03-23
Updated: 2020-03-23
Packaged: 2021-02-28 19:46:34
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,892
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23272675
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/calenlily/pseuds/calenlily
Summary: I love him. I do, I really do.So why is it that when we discovered the clause was gone, my reaction leaned towards blind panic?
Relationships: Angel/Buffy Summers
Comments: 2
Kudos: 57
Collections: All The Nice Things Flash Exchange 2020





	Possibility

**Author's Note:**

  * For [LittleRaven](https://archiveofourown.org/users/LittleRaven/gifts).



I love him. I do, I really do.   
  
So why is it that when we discovered the clause was gone, my reaction leaned towards blind panic?   
  
If you asked me a week or even a day ago, I would have counted exactly that as my dearest wish. Be careful what you wish for, huh? Sure, I wanted more. I was beyond frustrated with the whole “look but don’t touch” nature of our relationship, and some days (most days) the unfulfilled sexual tension was all but unbearable.   
  
But it’s easy to want something when you know it can never be. Dealing with the ramifications of possibility is a different animal entirely. There’s a certain safety in impossible desire, and now that safety zone is gone.   
  
Which is why I was running. Had been running all day - all night - since this afternoon, you know what I mean. Two of my less admirable but very much present talents, running and hiding my feelings.   
  
And yes, the second one had come into play, too. Because I know very well that they did this for me. They don’t care that much about Angel; Giles and Willow dug up that spell because they want  _ me _ to be happy. (And on my Watcher’s part, I suspect as an attempt to assuage some of his guilt over poisoning me on my birthday.) So I did what I always do: slapped on my Happy Buffy face and played my part. Anything else would be to rudely slap away the gift they were trying to give me. I didn’t want to malign their work, and besides, they wouldn’t know how to respond to my true feelings.   
  
Then, when I was left alone with the one I couldn’t fool, I ran. I begged off patrol, claiming Mom wanted to spend quality time, and retreated to the sanctuary of my house. Now I’m holed up in my room, trying to make sense of my confused emotions.   
  
I should’ve been happy. I should’ve been elated. And I don’t have a clue why I’m not. What’s wrong with me? I really do love him. So why aren’t I happy about this? Why am I afraid?   
  
That’s it, I finally realize. I’m afraid. All my doubts and insecurities about our relationship have suddenly been given fresh relevance, and I don’t know what to do about it.   
  
The sound of my window opening from the outside jolts me from my thoughts.  _ Damnit! _ I’d left it closed for a reason, but locking it against him was unthinkable. Now I have a visitor when I least want one.   
  
“Come in,” I say because I don’t know what else to do, but I can’t summon much welcome in my voice.   
  
“Buffy?” he says questioningly. He knows something is up. Sometimes I hate that he’s so perceptive.   
  
“Angel.” I complete our little ritual of greeting though my heart isn’t in it.   
  
“Buffy, what’s wrong?” he asks, looking even more concerned, and comes to sit beside me on the edge of my bed.   
  
“Nothing.” Nothing that I’m willing to admit, at least.   
  
“Funny, when I do that I’m pretty sure you call it ‘something face’.”   
  
He reaches for me, and I can’t help but flinch away. I don’t want his comfort right now.   
  
He pulls his hand back as if burned, but of course, he isn’t about to give up. “Talk to me, Buffy. What’s the matter?”   
  
“I don’t know!” I wail. Pathetic much, huh? Then, in barely more than a whisper, I admit, “I’m afraid.”   
  
“What are you afraid of? I won’t push you into anything you’re not comfortable with. You know that, right?”   
  
Of course I know that. He isn’t the type. Pushing might actually be easier to deal with. But the issue is, that’s not the issue. “No, but I know there are things you  _ expect _ and everyone  _ expects _ and I’m supposed to be happy, and I thought I’d be happy, and why am I not happy? I’m just a big letdown. Maybe I’m broken.” The words spill out of me before I can stop them, confused and anguished and uncensoredly self-conscious.   
  
“You’re not broken,” he asserts vehemently. “Don’t ever think that.”   
  
He says it so assuredly that I almost believe it. I  _ want _ to believe it, but I can’t quite convince myself. “Then what?” I ask, defensive not so much against him as against myself, for I can feel that I’m verging on tears. In fact, I’m breaking down even as I lash out. And that has to be why I’m saying the things I am, because I never would if I were thinking clearly. “Why do you even care anyway? I know I’m not desirable.”   
  
Angel’s eyes flash dangerously. “How can you think that?” he demands.   
  
Now I actually am in tears, and my voice is barely audible. “You told me! You know,  _ after _ .”   
  
His expression flashes from stunned to confused to horrified as he works out the exchange I’m referring to. “Buffy, no! That wasn’t me; I’ve never thought that. Those words were only meant to hurt you.”   
  
“And how was I supposed to know it wasn’t the truth?” I retort. “You’ve never actually told me otherwise. In fact, you don’t tell me much of anything. You hardly touch me.”   
  
“Because I  _ couldn’t _ !” he exclaims. “Because I want you so much I’ve been terrified of losing control. God, Buffy, if I knew you felt that way....”   
  
“Oh.” My response is as small and pathetic as I feel right about now.   
  
Angel looks at me intently. “You really thought...?”   
  
“Well, yeah, kinda,” I say sheepishly. “I mean, I’m utterly inexperienced, and you must’ve had...” I’m not sure how to complete that statement.   
  
“Perfect happiness. Think about it,” he says simply. His voice is a low caress.   
  
I think about it. “Oh,” I say again, for lack of a more intelligent response. I bury my face in his chest - as much to hide my embarrassment as anything, but it’s the first time this evening I’ve dared to touch him. “Feeling like a big idiot right about now,” I mumble.   
  
He tentatively pulls me closer, and I offer no resistance. “Shhh, it’s okay. You have nothing to be ashamed of. I’m just glad to understand what was troubling you.”   
  
Some obstinate part of me was annoyed by how completely understanding he is. (I guess having two and a half centuries of experience with people helps with that. But sometimes he just seems too perfect ... which is kinda ironic considering everything. Hey, I never claimed to be rational.) But I am comforted by his words, and favor him with a watery smile.   
  
“Anything else on your mind?” he asks.   
  
“Not really, no.” Some lingering uncertainty, but I know that’s just nerves. “So we’re good now?” I ask quietly.   
  
“Yes. I just ... I wish you would have told me earlier. I can’t help you if you don’t talk to me.”   
  
I snort; I can’t help it. “Right, because you’re Mr. ‘Joe Here’s What I’m Thinking’.”   
  
His lips quirk. “Touché. I guess we can both work on that.”   
  
A long pause. It’s not exactly uncomfortable, but I can tell neither of us are quite certain where to go from here.   
  
Finally, I crawl into his lap and ask tentatively, “So, what now?”   
  
He brushes my hair back from my face and presses a soft kiss to my forehead. He looks me in the eye, and his voice is soft and serious. “Do you trust me?”   
  
“Yes,” I reply without hesitation, equally serious.   
  
“Do you love me?” he asks, his voice dropping to almost a whisper.   
  
“ _ Always _ ,” I swear.   
  
And because I can see where this is leading and I’m not doubting anymore, I kiss him then: plaster my body against him and kiss him to answer the yet unspoken question.  _ Yes, a thousand times yes. _   
  
He smiles when we pull apart - the kind of genuine, soul-deep smile I so rarely see on him. “My love,” he murmurs heatedly, and the husky note in his voice makes me shiver, makes me melt in his arms.   
  
“Wait.” He pulls away suddenly. “This is not the place - your mother -”   
  
“Is off on another of her ... gallery things,” I cut in, silencing his objection. “I, uh, lied about the quality time earlier,” I admit, ducking my head. I frown. “Well, there went the mood. And just when there was beginning to  _ be _ a mood.”   
  
“You want a mood?” he asks with a half-smirk.   
  
My first instinct is to laugh and agree. But I don’t get as far as that, because a moment later he’s kissing me - the knees go weak, mind goes blank kind of kiss, and his hands are roaming over me, and it’s all I can do to reciprocate. It’s been so long and, god, he feels so good.   
  
When the kiss ends there is a slight pause. “Show me,” I whisper, once I manage to regather my wits. “Show me what I’ve been missing.” And in token, I slip off my shirt.   
  
His hands reach out and cover mine, taking the fabric from me. A moment later they are sliding over my skin in a cool caress. He releases the clasp and removes my bra as well.   
  
He cups my breasts in his hands and bends to them. He laves the sensitive flesh with his tongue, nipping and suckling at my nipples.   
  
I almost feel like I should feel insecure or exposed, but with him, every intimacy simply seems natural. I arch my back and pull him closer; all I want is more. “Angel....” I draw his name out into a long moan, an incoherent plea.   
  
I shift so that I’m straddling him. One of his hands slips to my back and then down around my ass, nudging me closer. Suddenly I realize I can feel something hard pressing up between my legs, and I freeze, torn between the part of myself that wants him desperately and the part that’s gone as shy as if I were sixteen again. Our one night together feels like a very long time ago, and I’m painfully aware of just how inexperienced I am. I tell myself I’m being ridiculous; there’s nothing to be frightened of, and I want this, and for god’s sake I’ve had him inside me before! I recover quickly, pushing away the panicked flash of nerves to grind against him.   
  
I revel in the strangled moan that escapes his lips. It’s a heady rush to realize that, at least for the moment, I have the power.   
  
But, as ever, he reads me all too well, and my momentary freeze-up does not pass unnoticed. “I love you,” he breathes, soft against my skin, his voice a soothing reassurance.   
  
“I know,” I say, more confident now. I fumble with the buttons of his shirt. “I love you.”   
  
Again his hands slide up to meet mine and help me out, which is really a good thing considering my fingers seem to have lost all coordination.   
  
When his shirt is gone and I’m rather preoccupied with the smooth expanse of his bare chest, I feel his hands hook around the waistband of my sweatpants (unsexy much? But I guess that doesn’t matter now since they’re well on their way to being gone), catching my panties as well and sliding them off my legs. Before I can start to get self-conscious again, he looks at me with something akin to awe. “You are so beautiful,” he says reverently.   
  
I’m pretty sure I’m blushing, and I definitely can’t think of any intelligent response - not even a mechanical “thanks” kicks in.   
  
Finally I give myself a kick in the brain, and try to let a bit of my bolder self out. (I used to know all about how to handle guys. I wasn’t reigning queen at Hemery for nothing. But then, I have a lot of “used to” in my life; most of the time I don’t even mind. And Angel defies all rulebooks anyway.) I let my eyes wander over his broad chest, and even dare a darting glance at what is not yet uncovered. “You’re not too bad yourself,” I tease.   
  
He actually laughs. “Oh good, I was worried,” he jokes back.   
  
“It’s a close thing, I gotta warn you.” I’m feeling more at ease now, especially when my last taunt provokes him to lean down and stop my speech with a long, playful kiss. As our tongues tangle together, I arch up against him, seeking full body contact once more.   
  
I reach for his fly. Shirtless Angel good, I’ve decided. Pantsless Angel better. He strips obligingly, and it’s my turn to admire the view.   
  
“Lay back,” he instructs me, guiding me to stretch out on my back by means of a gentle hand on my shoulder.   
  
He lays soft kisses over my forehead, my cheeks, my neck, and the tension drains from my body - to be replaced with a different kind of tension. I mewl softly at the neglect to my lips.   
  
“All in good time, love,” he whispers. He lays over me, blanketing me with his large, cool body. Finally his lips come back down to close on mine. Sometimes I think I could get drunk off his kisses.   
  
I wrap my limbs about him, holding him close against me. He slides a hand between my thighs, fingertips skimming the slickness that seeps from my core before he presses one finger into me where I am empty and aching for him. It’s not what I really want, but it’s good all the same, and I moan into his mouth as my hungry flesh clenches around the digit.   
  
When he withdraws his hand, his finger is visibly wet. I can’t resist the temptation to catch his wrist and suck the finger into my mouth, tasting myself on him as I lick it clean.   
  
When I look up, the heat and passion I see reflected in his dark eyes threaten to overwhelm me. “Please,” I whimper, needy and impatient.   
  
His hands grasp my hips, holding me steady as he slides into me. My breath catches in my throat. I can feel my body stretch to accommodate him; he fills me so full, so good. A low moan spills from my lips. “Ohhh....”   
  
He groans. “God, you feel amazing. So hot and tight, so wet for me,” he murmurs. He strokes into me, slow and sensual, while his voice goes on in my ear, “I can’t tell you how much I’ve longed to make love to you again.”   
  
“Me, me too,” I say. My hands wrap around his shoulders, clinging tightly to him; the sensations he’s creating in me send me soaring until I feel like I might float away. “So many nights I’ve dreamed of your touch, but the dreams don’t begin to compare.”   
  
He rolls me on top of him. His hands on my hips guide me to sit astride him, help me to adjust to the new position. “That’s it, lass, ride me,” he murmurs. “You like that?”   
  
I shift back slightly and find an angle that hits just right. “Oh yes....”   
  
My hair is falling in my face; he reaches up to brush back the errant strands and tuck them behind my ear. His fingertips trail over my skin all the way back down, caressing my cheek, my neck, my breast, my hip. I could drown in the warmth and desire in his eyes. “There’s so much I want to show you, so many pleasures I look forward to sharing with you.”   
  
“I like the sound of that,” I gasp. I am panting for breath, my mouth gone dry, so I lean down to seek out the cool wetness of his lips.   
  
Now that the full length of our bodies are pressed together again, I don’t want to lose the contact. I wrap my arms around his neck and grind my hips in slow circles over him. I can feel his skin warming from the touch of mine.   
  
He reaches a hand between us, and I moan into the kiss as his thumb finds the sensitive bundle of nerves just above where our bodies are joined. His deft touch coaxes me higher, higher, until it’s almost too much, and as the crest breaks over me I bury my fingers in his hair as I throw my head back and cry out. “ _ Angel! _ ”   
  
He groans as my body spasms around him and presses his face into the crook of my shoulder. I savor the feel of him bucking up into me urgently, and hold fast to him until he shudders and I feel the cool rush of him spilling into me.   
  
I sprawl bonelessly atop him, too satisfied to move. I whimper at the loss when he pulls out of me, but let him resettle me against his side and draw the covers up over us.   
  
Then, unaccountably, I start shaking. I cling to him desperately, as if that would actually help anything. It’s not that I don’t trust him, but I don’t trust the world not to tear us apart again. “I don’t want to fall asleep,” I admit. “I don’t want to wake up and -”   
  
“Shhh, it’s okay,” he says. He presses a soft kiss to my forehead. “I love you. I’m not going anywhere.”   
  
And he doesn’t. He stays and holds me till morning.


End file.
